


Bête-noire

by xspike4evax



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:19:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4648521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xspike4evax/pseuds/xspike4evax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of a run in with Papa Tunde, Klaus realises there are things about his relationship with Cami he doesn't like</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bête-noire

**Bête-Noire**

He had thought it would be a cold day in hell before he heard from her again. She had, in no uncertain terms made it perfectly clear exactly what she thought of him. It wasn’t really anything that he hadn’t heard before a hundred times over, Rebekah and Elijah always had something to say about his behaviour in one form or another; his brother especially. Elijah, his big brother, he would insist on trying to be his conscious; he was like the Jiminy Cricket of the vampire world.

Having heard all his failings before, having had them spread out in front of him for his brother to pour over and criticize, it was inconceivable that Camille O’Connell of all people was able to make him squirm inside.

A dark scowl creased his forehead; she was so….. so pathetically human. She was goodness and light, filled with humanity and kindness; even for him. She had cried for him, soft tears of sympathy and compassion that had moved him more than words could say; more than he cared to admit even to himself.

He had caused tears before of course, and had, on numerous occasions, delighted in the causing. But no-one had cried _for_ him before. No –one had looked at him with such heartbreaking intensity for what he had endured. She hadn’t liked it, that trip into his mind, into his past. It had hurt her to see the way his father treated him, but that was only because she was human, she was good and felt empathy for other people; unlike him.

Maybe that wasn’t strictly true. When he had arrived at the bar to see Marcel lying on the floor his second chance at life being drained out of him, that familiar symbol carved on his forehead Klaus had been instantly transported back to another time in his life when he thought that Marcel was dead; that grief, that all consuming heartache and anguish had rushed over him threatening to drown him for a second time.

He had lost Marcel once, he would not allow it to happen again. Marcel meant something to him, after all, he had saved the boy, given him his name, watched him grow; loved him. Somehow it was Marcel’s betrayal that hurt most of all. Ever since they were human he and his brothers and sister had fought amongst themselves, they were family, it was what families did; but Marcel was more than that. Marcel was the son he had been denied. He had loved him accordingly but still he had pushed, feared Marcel’s love for Rebekah would mean more to him, that Marcel would leave him, abandon him like so many before him. So he had forced Marcel to make a choice, him or Rebekah. Marcel had chosen him and it said so much about the kind of person he was that he had been willing to leave his sister in a box with a dagger in her heart for fifty years just to ensure that he was not left alone.

It would never have occurred to her to force someone she loved to make that kind of choice. Klaus couldn’t help wondering what Cami would say if he told her about it. True she knew so much about him already, and didn’t that just astound him. What had possessed him to lay his life bare to her scrutiny like that?

A movement to his left and the sound of a heart beat caught his attention. Klaus looked up to see her standing in the doorway, frightened, dishevelled, bleeding; but still strong in spite of it. Something in his gut twisted to see her like that; she looked so small, so vulnerable, so completely breakable.

“Is he…?” she whispered hoarsely her eyes dropping to where Marcel lay, still and silent amongst the broken glass and wood; remnants of his fight with Papa Tunde.

“He’ll be alright,” Klaus said striding forward to meet her as she took a few hesitant steps forward. “He’ll need blood to heal. Go and fetch me someone from the street.”

She was close to him now, he could feel the warmth from her body, see clearly the scratches on her face. All he had to do was lift his hand and he would come into contact with her. She was so close but so far away at the same time, all he had done since meeting her standing between them; a river he could not cross, a wall he could not break down; and he shouldn’t want to.

“I can do it,” she said softly, her eyes going to Marcel again, that look of sympathy that had once been his crossing her face.

“I don’t want you involved.” His response was his first response, his initial reaction to her suggestion; he didn’t like it. Why should it matter whose blood healed Marcel?

But it did matter. It mattered a lot.

“I’m already involved,” she snapped, her tone turning distinctly frosty. “And you don’t control me any more.”

Cold, he was suddenly cold to the very marrow of his bones; Klaus didn’t like it. She left his side, her blonde hair a tangled mess around her shoulders. Funny how he noticed that at a time like this. Klaus watched, a dark scowl creeping across his face as she knelt beside Marcel, speaking softly, lifting him gently to her neck.

Something inside him screamed in protest and the cold turned to an icy rage as the scent of blood hit him and he knew Marcel’s fangs and pierced the delicate skin of her neck. She winced slightly, a small gasp leaving her lips and his gut twisted again.

She held Marcel carefully in her arms, her hand cradling the back of his head as she held him against her, encouraging him to drink, to heal; he didn’t like it.

Incapable of turning away Klaus could do nothing but watch as she healed Marcel so willingly. Would she have done the same for him if the situation were reversed?

Common sense and a sense of Cami herself told Klaus that she probably would. She was good she was decent; she wanted to help people and wouldn’t be selfish enough to deny him what he would need to heal if she could help him. That wasn’t her way. That was all him.

That familiar feeling of aloneness hadn’t been so strong in a long time as it was right now as Cami murmured soothingly to Marcel, her fingers absently caressing the back of his neck as she waited patiently for him to drink his fill.

Cami didn’t look at him once, concentrating instead on Marcel. Really, there was no reason why she should look at him, but he wanted her to. While Marcel indulged in the intimacy of being offered a vein to drink from Klaus wanted her to look at him and make him a part of it too so that he wasn’t forced to stand on the sidelines alone and forgotten.

It was almost as though he were a ghost, as though he weren’t in the room at all; he didn’t like it. Even though he had tried to send her away and make her forget all about him, Klaus felt only relief that Davina had broken that compulsion. The idea of Cami alive in the world and not remembering him at all; he didn’t like it.


End file.
